Wednesday, 15 February 2012

Party Pooper

"What do I wear?" is not the first question that comes to mind when I get invited to go to a dinner or a party. Seriously. Before my friends completely disown me, let me forge ahead and explain.

"What is my long run plan for the weekend?" is the question I ask myself. Seriously. Now go ahead and disown me.

As I age, my ability to operate on fewer hours of sleep than usual is there, somewhat. But my ability to exercise on fewer hours of sleep has vanished poof into the void.

"At least you get out there" I tell myself. And this is true. It is a big achievement. I like my group of friends. I like meeting new people. I like all the chatter and noise and alcohol and food and so on. Up until 9:30 pm. I can drag on till 10 pm for special occasions. But after that, I hate everything and everybody. And I pull my hair out and drag my shirt out of my jeans and generally follow the child about like a lamb looking for a comfy mattress to lie down upon and sleep.

My brother in law, when they lived in the US, had cracked this problem well (though he was not motivated by long runs). He would disappear into one of the conveniently located bedrooms, claiming that his child needed to sleep. He would take a quick nap. If the child slept during this time, well and good. He was not too bothered by that outcome, really. Refreshed from his nap, he would emerge all gung-ho and ready for ice-cream.

My husband is absolutely the opposite of me. He will sit around slightly grumpy for the first hour or so of the party. He will have normal conversations with people - without excitement - just neutral-like. By and by he will overtake the party. The point at which conversations in new languages enter the mix is really when I start very quantitatively evaluating things like number of hours of sleep, converting 9:00-9:30 min/mile long runs to any LSD (long slow distance) I can muster, number of hours I can run, whether I can make up somehow through the course of the week, etc.

The sensible thing to do, in these situations, is what one of my girl friends does. "Preeti, can you guys drop my husband off at home?" she will ask, knowing full well that we are in it for the long haul. Then she gives a sweet smile at everyone and goes home to sleep, a fluffy mattress, sleeping children, and sleep, blissful sleep. Meanwhile I look daggers at my husband, who ignores me, and has the company of another night owl and an obligation to hang out till he is ready to leave. I find the child curled up in a corner and plonk next to her (she ignores me as well). Then some enthusiastic adult comes up to me to ask if I am bored, don't I want another drink, did I eat my dinner, etc. (no, no, sort of).

I think I am theoretically ready for parties and dinners and socialising and late nights. But my body is telling me something else. When I hit the big four-oh, I think I am going to hang up my socks and stay home in my comfy bed and read or sleep while you all waltz around through the night. We can always chat over email or something in the morning hours. I have 700 odd days to grit my teeth through then...